The Masquerade Ball
by daybreaks
Summary: Roy, Riza, the masks they wear and the roles they play. Given the daunting opportunity to be anything they like for one night, what will they choose?


In a sense, this is kind of a response 'fic to something else I wrote, Nighthawk Confessional... What happens here may or may not take place after the events in that oneshot... but more importantly the story just runs along a similar theme (if that makes sense). So if you'd like prep reading, read Nighthawk Confessional. If not, jump straight in.

This is for **AvaEobane** and **to overcome reality**. You both left wonderful reviews and asked for a sequel. Thinking of one sparked this and so here we are!

Hope you all enjoy, and if you do I'd love to hear what you think~

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><p>The Masquerade Ball<p>

Chapter 1

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><p>"Lieutenant- coffee. Six teaspoons of sugar this morning, if you please."<p>

The clock on near the door shows the time to be a quarter to ten. Roy raises his mug out to Hawkeye.

If it were any other morning, the Colonel might have looked a little rakish, and the Lieutenant a little annoyed. But as it is, today the lieutenant has just gotten up herself, her own white mug in hand. The Colonel's gesture and tone is so pragmatic it's almost out of character. Hawkeye's response doesn't help. She glances over at Roy, pauses, then non-chalantly picks up his cup. They don't even make much eye contact- as soon as his mug leaves his hand, Roy starts penning the heading of a new letter and Hawkeye moves briskly away towards the door.

A few glances by Fuery, Falman and Breda (Havoc's late this morning) but no one says a word. The door opens, the door closes.

It's a quiet Monday morning.

It always goes like this, muses Breda. No one else asks to have _their_ mug filled and no one else comments on the routine. However, they all secretly note that Monday is coffee morning- not Tuesday, nor Wednesday, nor Thursday, nor Friday. God forbid Saturday or Sunday. (Though given the workaholic nature of the Lieutenant and her task-master mentality, it's not beyond belief that she and the Colonel _could_ be stuck in the office during the weekend.)

The Colonel has tried on other days to get his mug filled before the morning tea break but he's normally been ignored. The lieutenant looks at him absolutely deadpan as if to say, "Really, again?" and the Colonel backs down and the lieutenant leaves the room in peace.

However today is Monday and Monday is coffee morning and Hawkeye soon returns.

...And today, notices Breda, is a little different. Normally Hawkeye will hand Roy his mug of coffee, he'll nod briefly in appreciation and she'll return to her desk. No fuss at all. But today:

"I took the liberty of only adding _three_ teaspoons, Colonel."

Activity in the office hovers still for a moment- Dialogue between the two always suffices for some decent amount of entertainment. The Colonel tilts his coffee mug this way and that, as if suddenly a little suspicious of the contents. Like a child who asks for jam tart for dessert and gets rice pudding instead, Roy warily looks up at the lieutenant.

"But I said six."

"Sir, I said, I took the liberty of only adding three."

Roy stares down at the brown liquid.

"Colonel, do you want me to go back and get the sugar canister?"

"No! I mean… it's just going to be a lot more… bitter."

Hawkeye looks just about as sympathetic as a brick wall.

The rest of the office tries to look as if they're not listening (to varying degrees of subtlety). Breda is the first to get bored with the dialogue once he realizes the interchange is nothing significant... it's just the Colonel being his usual ridiculous. He wonders if the two of them were always like this, are always like this: Colonel Mustang always verging off the rails, Lieutenant Hawkeye always completely on the rails. He charges, she restrains. They fulfil their roles with such ease it's like clockwork.

Finally, Roy chooses to sip his coffee in sheepish silent submission. Breda taps his pen; the end of another little play. Hawkeye returns to her own desk and everyone else looks at their own empty cups that have gone un-refilled. The morning continues.

.

At 10:15 Havoc marches through the door and slams a flyer down on the large central desk. The slapping sound turns most heads in his direction. Most people look unimpressed.

"You're late," informs Breda, Fuery and Falman. They give a communal pointed stare.

Havoc is undeterred. He drums on the table… a little too merrily.

"The White Swan hotel is holding Saturday Night Masquerades for the next month or so!"

Roy stops his writing and looks up. Hawkeye prodigiously continues her paperwork, though her head inclines ever so slightly.

Havoc pats the flyer. "Man this is a fantastic idea – no prejudices, no judgemental cast aways, I'll be damned if I don't get a great girl by the end of it all-"

"What?" Breda snatches the flyer from underneath Havoc's hands. "_This _is why you're late? I bet you got suckered into buying tickets-"

"I did," beams Havoc, "Two of them in fact. The guy told me Milatary Personnel get a 30% discount!"

Breda passes the flyer to Falman. "Eh, whatever. I think covering up your face with a mask is plain dangerous. Bad gamble if you ended up getting petrified by an unlucky unmasking."

"Or," Fuery says brightly, "If the lady ends up ditching you when _you_ take off your mask."

Havoc glares, Fuery shrinks. Havoc exhales, as if trying to compose himself before launching into another angle of attack.

"Aw come on, it gives us all a fair playing grounds. I'm sure once fame and face is taken away, between me and the Colonel personality-wise I'd be _just_ as popular. Hell with this I can be _anyone_ I like, screw convention."

Roy rolls his eyes, "Which is the reason why I'm your superior and you're my subordinate, of course. Charming Havoc, but empty threat."

Havoc rolls his eye and retains the grin. "No one's going to put a damper on this guy- I'm going! And I'm going to get myself a girlfriend! And she'll be great!"

Falman points out that he's used far too many exclamations to sound confident. Breda opens up a betting pool five seconds afterwards. The odds are high against Havoc. Extremely high. Hawkeye doesn't contribute to it, but Havoc isn't awfully reassured by when the lieutenant starts talking, seemingly trying to make him feel better- as if pseudo-critical advice _is _some sort of consolation.

"Second Lieutenant Havoc, please don't wear the purple tie you had at the last military ball," she says, "A silk blue one would be better."

"You mean the purple tie wasn't-" (he thought he'd looked rather suave))

"No."

"Really?"

"Yes." The woman's voice is entirely too sure.

Havoc nods reluctantly, but then supposes since it's Hawkeye, and Hawkeye never leads you on, and since Hawkeye is female and should know… well…

By this stage Fuery has picked up the flyer and is getting teased about it by Falman.

Havoc half listens to their interchange, then looks back in Hawkeye's direction. The two of them are the oldest in Roy's crew, closest to the Colonel in all matters of confidentiality and trust. It's an odd relationship, theirs. Not like loud comrades, or even friends like he and Breda or the rest, but a strange sort of unspoken understanding. He gets her in a way Fuery and the rest don't, even though it's not like they really talk. But they have a rapport and unity of mind, despite their sheer differences and it all comes down to that distinct overhanging of a relation to a man they've both sworn utter loyalty to.

Havoc knows he'd give his life for Roy Mustang. He doesn't doubt Hawkeye in that either. From there, they both know they'd die for each other in _support_ of that man.

But beyond that, Havoc knows there is an even stronger relation between the Lieutenant and her Colonel that goes far beyond his mere death and life loyalty. He wonders about it sometimes, but never pushes the question to Roy when they're alone. He never pushes the question to Hawkeye either. He kind of skims the subject sometimes, but there's never a definitive answer from either of them. Nothing comes in between the two of them and nothing comes out, either.

Yet there is something there- never tangible enough to cause tension or discord, but _something_ nonetheless. There is a strange hold that the Colonel has over Hawkeye and almost she over him.

So Havoc just takes his daily smokes, dumps the stub into an ash tray Hawkeye hands him when she's had enough second hand smoke, and surveys them as close as he can when he thinks they're not looking.

(…_and_ plans what he'll do with all the women who's going to throw themselves at his feet this Saturday night.)

.

At half past twelve, everyone starts promptly packing up for lunch- Colonel Mustang included, Lieutenant Hawkeye excluded. As soon as his ink pen is capped and paperwork neatly stacked (kind of), Roy places his head on his right hand and lazily watches the hustle bustle of the rest.

Falman is first to finish but it's Breda who's out the door first. Soon he and his lieutenant are left behind as Havoc accidentally slams the door behind him. Roy glances at Hawkeye. She has only just stopped writing. Clearing things to one side, Hawkeye picks up the masquerade flyer and gos to affix it to the office notice board.

"What do you think of that, lieutenant?"

Hawkeye glances at him. "General Grumman is a co-owner of the White Swan. I'm assuming that's where the discount comes from."

Roy gets up and strides over beside her. He studies the promotion. A silhouette of a mask against brown paper and stark black lettering are the flyer's main features.

"I think it sounds entertaining." Roy brightens, "I might go. A bit of relief against all the stresses on in Central nowadays."

He grins, Cheshire cat wide at her. "Are you going to give _me_ any fashion advice?"

Surprisingly, Hawkeye's expression turns speculative, as if she's giving the matter serious thought. This is almost too much. Roy swings into one of his loud speeches to make up for it the unorthodox response.

"A tie color would do too, should I wear purple?" he cringes immediately. "No, I can see why you weren't keen on purple. Eurgh. Wouldn't want to give out the wrong idea, now would I? But, aha, I'm Roy Mustang. I don't give out the wrong idea."

Roy chuckles at his own clever remark.

And now Hawkeye does walk away. Roy watches her, and as he does, slight incoherent supposings start to tumble around in his head. Before he can get a proper hold of them, one tumbles down to his mouth and out into the air.

"Lieutenant. Are you going to go?"

His aide pauses mid-step. She looks back at him, an unreadable expression on her face. And then she smiles- the sort of smile that is a smile and isn't a smile at the same time.

"I'm going to go to lunch sir."

.

"Rizaaaa! Rizaaa! Hey! How are you doing?"

A strong voice cuts through the chatter of the military cafeteria. Riza looks up. Rebecca Catalina has just plonked her lunch tray next to hers. Water jumps out of a glass on the tray. Riza offers Rebecca a paper napkin to dab the spill.

"Rebecca? Hey," Riza tilts her head, "What are you doing here in Central?"

Riza moves a little to one side on the bench. Rebecca slides over, wiping the table dry as she sits down. Soldiers, mostly male, laugh and talk on either side of them. A few give Rebecca- the stranger on campus- a raking once over. She blatantly ignores this. Havoc and the rest sitting nearby, call out their greetings.

Rebecca responds, then turns her attention back to Riza.

"Paid holiday" the woman quips, breaking open her bread bun. As she butters it, the woman does a quick survey of the cafeteria. "Huh. You think that with more men, there'd be more good looking men around here."

"We're in the Military. We're here to do our duties and protect the country, not get matchmade," replies Riza drily.

Rebecca immediately launches into a energetic counter-argument. Riza, well-practised, manages to look attentive while musing on the real reasons for Rebecca's appearance. She stirs her pumpkin soup meditatively. If Rebecca is in town, there's a good likelihood General Grumman will be too. The man himself is nowhere to be seen now, but logically, he should be at the other dining area.

Higher ranking officers, such as the Colonel, have been entitled to a separate dining hall for lunch. Mahogany wood, plush carpeting and free cigars are among some of the apparent highlights. The Colonel frequents it on a lackadaisical basis: He complains the food is still the same, just served on white china.

After a while, Riza pieces the situation together. "You're here with General Grumman to help open up the first few Masquerades?"

Rebecca half chokes amongst a string of words. "-whoa! News travels fast around here, I'd say. That was dauntingly precise First Lieutenant."

The dark haired woman tilts her head slyly. "So in the know because you're keen to go? I could probably get you in free."

"I don't know." Riza deliberately adopts a non-committal tone. Less is more when talking to Rebecca sometimes, she's learnt. "Are you going?"

"Hell yeah I am. A paid holiday is a paid holiday. I'm here in Central until next week! Are you busy nowadays?"

A small gleam has entered her eyes: potential apocalypse appending. Riza has a sinking feeling as to where this might be going.

"Well, you can't be too busy, right? Because I came to Central with nothing to wear and I'm going for an all out shopping haul on Thursday evening! And you," says Rebecca, pointing an authoritative finger at Riza, "are coming with me."

Riza fails to show exuberant amounts of enthusiasm. Rebecca's bravado splinters. She clutches Riza's arm.

"Come on!" wheedles Rebecca, "I hardly know anyone else around here, and you know you need some time away from that godforsaken office. I'll find you a nice dress, man and night out! And it will be fun!"

Rebecca punctuates the last sentence with a hearty slap on the table. It's like deja vu, Riza thinks... but not anymore compelling or convincing.

Rebecca switches tactics. "Whatever. You need someone nice to take you out, and it's a Masquerade, no one even needs to know you're going. Well, except me of course- but I digress. You'll get a breakaway from everything, everyone- The rules, the regulations, all your duties; just be and do whatever the hell you want. Sounds nice, don't you think?"

For the first time regarding this strenuous topic, Riza finds herself faltering. It is only momentary of course, a flicker of doubt in amber eyes before her face regains composure. Riza sighs. She decides that she will be going shopping Thursday night. Rebecca beams. For the rest of the week, Riza will let herself believe she's only going to humour Rebecca Catalina and Rebecca Catalina, smugly satisfied at finding a partner-in-crime _and_ a dress up doll, will humour Riza Hawkeye by letting her believe that as well.

"Exactly. Lord knows you're wasting away with all those hopeless men of yours around and you need all the help you can get from yours, yours truly! It's all right dearie, no thank yous needed. In less than a week you'll have your hair down, pumping it out on the dance floor and gotten kicked out of the Military for breaking every single fraternization rule in the book!"

"…"

"Is that a but? I'm not taking buts!"

And so it all begins.

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><p><em>To be continued<em>


End file.
